


In Bloom

by anomalously



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: I think?, M/M, also cute Mickey and Yev time, kinda fluff stuff, light ref to 3x666
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-13
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-03-22 16:15:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3735358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anomalously/pseuds/anomalously
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey reached down and ran his hand over his son’s soft blond hair. It wasn’t nearly as shocking blond as it used to be, and there was a part of Mickey that hoped that it would stay light. Like maybe in some weird impossible way it would keep him innocent and keep him from walking in Mickey’s footsteps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Bloom

**Author's Note:**

> It was a Nirvana day.

Mickey lit up his cigarette, watching as Yevgeny’s wobbly little two year old self sat down next to him on the front porch stairs. It had taken him a while, but Mickey was starting to actually like hanging around with the kid. He didn’t say much, and when he did, it tended to be babbling nonsense, but Yev had his moments.

“Here, kid,” Mickey held out a yellow sippy cup full of apple juice.

His son looked over at him with his big blue eyes and cracked an ear-to-ear smile as he took the cup. His blond hair shifted in the breeze; he tried to smile at Mickey while he took a drink, some juice dribbling from the corner of his mouth, landing on the front of his shirt. It was one of Liam’s old ones, Ian had brought over a bag of hand-me-down’s from the Gallagher house a couple months ago. 

It was the one and only time that Mickey would willingly admit that the whole Gallagher’s-being-a-package-deal thing wasn’t so bad. Being from such a large family meant that Ian —and now Mickey— had access to clothes and toys for Yev that the other kids had grown out of long ago. Milkovich’s didn't hang on to shit like that. If it was something that could be sold, it was sold —or if it was taking up space and considered useless, thrown out.

“Ay, what do you say?” Mickey’s brows raised high.

Yev’s eyes shifted to look up at him while he chugged away at his juice.

“You say ‘thank you’,” Mickey supplied, the corner of his mouth lifting just barely.

“Tank!” Yev smiled real big at him

Mickey shrugged, “Close enough, kid.”

There were a couple toys that were left at the top of the stairs. One of those plastic key sets and a clunky red car and a bucket —for some reason the kid was all about the bucket.

The two of them stayed on the stairs for a while, watching cars and people from the neighborhood pass by. Yev was a good kid. He was quiet and listened well enough for a two year old, so for the most part, Mickey didn't have to worry about him getting antsy and running off the way he’d seen a lot of little kids do. 

Mickey was getting to the last of his second cigarette while Yev was making his rounds climbing up and down the stairs. He babbled on about the red car and the juice and the bucket, making a show of how he could carry these things down the stairs and back up to where Mickey sat, showing off to his father. 

He’d never thought in a million years that he’d be watching a kid — _his kid_ — with the kind of patience that he’d grown into, but here Mickey was doing just that. Yev pointed out the fact that he had a bucket, no less than twenty times now and every time Mickey would nod in response, letting his son know that  _yes_ , he did indeed have a bucket. The Mickey from a few years ago would have become frustrated and would have snapped at the toddler. 

But after everything that Mickey and Ian had been through… hell, after everything  _all_  of them had been through, Mickey’s newfound ability to not get all bent out of shape about the small shit had been a godsend, for everyone.

“Ay, ay, ay, the hell you doing?” Mickey called out to Yev. The two year old had his hands firmly on the chain link of the gate out front, looking back at his father with a grin he could have only learned from his mother. “Get away from the fence, you know better than that.”

“Oh-kay daddy,” Yev said with a big sigh, shoulders slumping. He marched back up the steps with his bucket and sat on the stair just below his father.

Mickey reached down and ran his hand over his son’s soft blond hair. It wasn’t nearly as shocking blond as it used to be, and there was a part of Mickey that hoped that it would stay light. Like maybe in some weird impossible way it would keep him innocent and keep him from walking in Mickey’s footsteps. 

Yev stood and pointed, looking back at Mickey, “Een’s back!” he beamed.

Unable to deny his son a return smile, Mickey nodded and stubbed out his cigarette butt on the concrete floor of the porch. “Go on,” he told him, pointing toward Ian climbing out of the white sedan.

Ian grinned up at Mickey and Yev, waving off his carpool as they drove away. Yev carefully made his way down the concrete stairs, calling out to Ian as he did so. He was always excited to see Ian. Sometimes Mickey felt little pops of envy over that, but who could really blame the kid? Ian had always been better than interacting with Yev than Mickey had been. 

“Hey little man,” Ian smiled, scooping up the toddler.

There was something that made Mickey’s chest go all warm when he saw Ian with Yev. Any little pop of envy always died immediately. Yev was lucky to have someone like Ian, someone who didn't  _have_  to love him, who didn't  _have_  to spend time with him, but did anyway because he  _chose_  to and had room in his heart.

Mickey stood when Ian got to the top of the stairs with Yev. His hand reached out to brush against his boyfriends hip, just needing to touch him.

“How was work?” Mickey asked.

“Eh, fine.” Ian leaned forward, pressing his lips to the corner of Mickey’s. 

Yev squirmed in Ian’s hold, making a little squeal of a giggle. He put his tiny hands on the back of Ian and Mickey’s heads, pressing their faces together. Both men chuckled against each other’s mouths before leaning away, breaking Yev’s hold. They were still outside after all, and this was still South Side.

Mickey led the way into the house. Iggy still sat in the living room, doing his part in sorting and counting stacks of money. Even though his brother isn’t a complete idiot, Mickey will have to double check his numbers later. It’s really just a habit, just having a thing about needing to count it for himself. Ian says it’s because he has _“control issues”_.

“Shit, is this all from the Rub-N-Tug today?” Ian asked, letting Yev down to do his own thing.

Yev ends up running to plop down in front of the television when he sees that an old cartoon show is on. Between the Road Runner and the sippy cup of apple juice Mickey had brought back inside and handed to him, the kid would be good for a while.

“Nah, not all,” Iggy grinned.

Mickey slouched down onto the couch next to his brother, pulling out his pack of cigarettes. As he held one between his lips, he held the pack out to Ian, who took one as well, then to Iggy. He lit up, passed the lighter to Ian and then propped his feet up on the coffee table.

“Iggy’s been scamming the meth-heads all day,” Mickey explained, waving a hand at his brother so he’d move to the armchair and give his seat to Ian.

“They make it too easy,” Iggy stated, “Serves them right, right?”

“Right, until one of those motherfuckers wakes up and goes all Hulk on your ass,” Mickey smirked.

“Shit man, I’d like to see them try.”

Ian chuckled, taking his seat close to Mickey. As he sits back and lights up his cigarette, Mickey watches his profile. He watches the way his mouth holds the cigarette, his thumb pushing down on the lighter, sparking the burst of fire. It all goes slow motion for an instant and before Mickey can stop himself, he slides his hand over the couple inches of seat cushion between them and brushes his fingers under the bottom of Ian’s shirt, letting them graze against the soft skin of his hip. 

Ian doesn’t react and Mickey is thankful for that. Because even though Iggy doesn't care that Mickey is gay, Mickey is still on that slow track to being completely comfortable in his own skin around his own family. It’s strangely better around the Gallagher’s, but then again Ian’s family is so out of whack that they make Mickey feel relatively normal.

Svetlana comes home later on, bringing her own money to add to the coffee table. Yev might love Ian and he might love Mickey, but the way that boy looks at his mother even makes Mickey smile at the pair. It took a long time for Mickey to not hate Svetlana as much as he used to. Yev helps in that department, he’s the only beautiful thing that came out of a fucking nightmare.

Mickey’s wife kisses the tops of Mickey and Ian’s heads. She has her moments when she tries to make the best of a fucked up situation. If you get her drunk enough, she’ll even start calling Ian her second husband and say that it’s nice having men in her life that have absolutely no interest in fucking her. But aside from her acid tongue when she fights with him, she does try to make it normal, tries to keep them united —more than Mickey ever tries, he admits.

“Baby need to be in preschool soon,” Svetlana announces. She picks Yev up, resting him on her hip, where she likes him to be. “Good preschool, good teacher. Where he go play with other children and learn ABC. Is important so he doesn’t grow up to be street thug with tattoos on fingers.”

Mickey rolls his eyes as Ian lets out a bark of laughter. “We’ll get the kid in school.”

“Good school,” she says, eyebrows perked up. “Good school with good teacher.”

“Yes, a good school, we’ll get him in a good fucking school!” Mickey sighs, waving a dismissive hand, letting her know he’s done with this conversation. “Fuck.”

Mickey doesn’t have the ability to make Svetlana smile too often, and doesn't make it a habit of trying to, but when it happens, her smile is gentle. She gives one of those gentle smiles in thanks and takes Yev with her to start making dinner.

Iggy stuffs the cash from the coffee table into an envelope, scribbles something on the front and then hands it to Mickey. He pockets it, not bothering to look at the amount, and then knocked his FUCK fist against his brother’s BEAT fist. 

After Iggy grabs a beer from the fridge, he leaves to do whatever it is that he does. Mickey gave up trying to figure that out a long time ago.

As soon as the front door closes, Ian leans over and kisses Mickey. It’s all soft and drawn out, and it feels so fucking good. Mickey grabs onto the back of his boyfriends neck, doesn’t care if Svetlana sees them. It’s not because he’s comfortable around her, he doesn't know why he doesn't care. Maybe because after everything that’s been said and done... what was the point?

Ian’s presses against his mouth a little harder, just barely, his hand sliding up to the side of Mickey’s face. Mickey sighs against Ian’s lips. His boyfriend had been pulling double shifts for the past four days. Coming back home from work, Ian's only interest included a hot shower and falling face first into his pillow, dead to the world. 

But today wasn’t a double shift. And Ian definitely didn't seem tired.

“Dinner ready in thirty minutes, if you boys want to go rub dicks together. Make sure you lock door, yes? Yevgeny reaches doorknobs now.”

Ian laughed into Mickey’s mouth.

“Fuckin hate her,” Mickey growled, “I swear to god.”

The redhead hummed as he pressed his lips hard against Mickey’s, his tongue slips out to meet his and  _fuck_  Mickey loved kissing Ian. He’d held out for so long, had been so nervous to let Ian in that way, but ever since he let himself, it was his second favorite thing to do to his boyfriend.

“Come on Mick,” Ian breathed, “Let’s go rub our dicks together.”

Despite everything in him, every single part of him, Mickey laughed, shaking his head. And he laughed hard, raising his middle finger between he and Ian, “Fuck. Off." 


End file.
